


this whole damn city thinks it needs you (but not as much as I do)

by zanthetran



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:40:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23688568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanthetran/pseuds/zanthetran
Summary: You know it is unreciprocated, but she holds so much space in your ribs.Clarke laid down next to Lexa on the rug in Lexa’s tiny apartment and slid her hand in Lexa’s and she felt Clarke’s smile in her bones. And Clarke was looking at her and she whispered, “it must be an honor, being yours.” (And Lexa has still never heard a more beautiful thing).--Lexa's pov, I guess a modern au type thing. just a drabble really.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 7
Kudos: 57





	this whole damn city thinks it needs you (but not as much as I do)

**Author's Note:**

> insp by a poem by inkskinned on tumblr.
> 
> poem: ridinkskinned.com/post/614928778716692480/you-know-it-is-unreciprocated-but-she-holds-so
> 
> title from the last of the real ones by fall out boy

You know it is unreciprocated, but she holds so much space in your ribs.

* * *

Lexa couldn’t keep her eyes off of her. The way she folded her napkin before she tucked it under the plate. The way she laughed when Lexa said something even remotely funny, and pushed her hair behind one ear. The way the sun hit her like a halo, light splayed out behind her head. The way her hands touched at the silverware softly, gently; hands that know exactly how they move, so sure.

She wanted to say: _you make me feel like a temple, like holy ground._

And Clarke talked about her friends and she laughed and Lexa’s heart skipped a beat.

* * *

Two weeks ago, while box-wine drunk, Clarke laid down next to Lexa on the rug in Lexa’s tiny apartment and slid her hand in Lexa’s and she felt Clarke’s smile in her _bones_. And Clarke was looking at her and she whispered, “it must be an honor, being yours.” (And Lexa has still never heard a more beautiful thing). She wanted to reply, wanted so badly to say, “being around you sets embers under my tongue. Being around you is a snakebite,” but Clarke had closed her eyes, happy smile still on her face but unmistakably asleep. Lexa roused her long enough to get her in bed and slid in next to her, tried to ignore the heat coming off Clarke as she lay there asleep.

* * *

Last Tuesday, as Lexa stirred the noodles, Clarke reached around her and took the wooden spoon out of her hands and said, “dance with me,” as music (that was definitely not waltzing music) played through the living rooms speakers. And Clarke held her left hand out for Lexa to take, and when she did Clarke held it up and put her other hand on Lexa’s back and pulled her closer than waltzing standard allowed. Lexa felt unsaid truths and half asked questions fill her mouth as Clarke spun her around the kitchen.

She wanted to say: _I cannot come to you if I don’t know how much you’re calling._

She wanted to say: _I know you are used to less gentle desires._

She wanted to say: _I am not hunting, Clarke._

* * *

Days later, while at lunch, she asks, “how’s Finn?” because _he_ is the safe topic. The reminder.

And Clarke talks about her boyfriend and their cat, and Lexa finds she doesn’t really care what Clarke talks about as long as she was talking. And her heart aches as she listens and jokes and smiles and _plays along_ because maybe Clarke is this flirty with everyone, maybe it’s just how she is (but after 4 years you would think you know).

Lexa eats instead of asking. Clarke stops talking for a minute and leans over the table, and Lexa suddenly can’t _breathe_ and she swears her heart stops as Clarke swipes her thumb over Lexa’s cheek and says breathlessly, “pepper fleck.” Lexa pretends to snap her teeth and Clarke pulls her hand back quickly and laughs, head tilted back and carefree, and Lexa tries to remember a time when she’s seen Clarke laugh like that around Finn - but that’s dangerous thought territory.

Clarke says to the waiter, “Yes, more wine! We are on a date!” and Lexa blushes down at her plate, unable to respond to the waiters comment, “well, congratulations.”

She carries on about Finn and Lexa bites her tongue, doesn’t tell her to leave him (to pack her things and run with her). Doesn't say anything about the way he talks to Clarke sometimes, when he’s drunk (and sometimes when he’s not). And when Lexa can’t listen to another stupid thing Finn said, she leans over and steals a fry off Clarke’s plate, and Clarke swats at her hand but lets her, and then Clarke is stealing Lexa’s onion rings and soon they’ve eaten the rest of the others food, and Clarke looks so _happy_ that Lexa has to bite her tongue again (she figures the blood filling her mouth is penance to pay for what she must’ve done to end up simultaneously with and without Clarke).

“Hang on, lemme get a picture of you,” Lexa says and uses the excuse to stare at Clarke and the smirk she is always wearing. The sun sets behind her and the glow makes Lexa’s breath catch in her throat and she doesn’t make eye contact.

She wants to say: _just kill me. I have spent so long aching for you that it would be easier, the dying._

She says, “Perfect.”

And she knows - _god, she knows_ \- it’s unrequited, but imagine how lovely it would be to say, “ _please, be mine_.”


End file.
